


a grass in the beginning

by coyotesuspect



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Friendship, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 21:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13016124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotesuspect/pseuds/coyotesuspect
Summary: Pidge starts a garden on the Castle of Lions.Or: seven conversations Pidge has while standing next to a tree.





	a grass in the beginning

_Does this mean I’m going to need to start gardening?  
_ \-- Pidge, Greening the Cube 

She starts the garden after Olkarion. Ryner gives her a small sapling and a box of soil. 

__

__

“Awesome,” says Pidge. “Where’s the interface for it?” 

Ryner smiles mysteriously. “Some things you have to discover for yourself,” she says, and then she says her good-byes. 

It’s annoyingly cryptic. But Pidge is in a good enough mood to take the tree, buoyant and full of good will towards all of creation. Maybe she should take up gardening, she thinks, if just one day in a forest helped her unlock new powers in the Green Lion. 

Coran helps her get the sapling set up. There’s plenty of unused space in the castle, and plenty of weird technology to help simulate the light of the Olkarion sun. They find a large empty room that Coran tells her used to be a small hangar for light fighter craft. There are no ships in it now, and Pidge doesn’t ask why. There are a lot of gaps in the castle like that, a lot of ghosts. But it’s a good room – big enough to give the tree room to grow, but contained enough that Pidge can control the environment. 

“Altean gardeners were renowned across the universe for their skill,” reminisces Coran as they pot the sapling in an extra-large containment capsule. “Travelers came from all over to see our gardens.” 

“Did you garden?” asks Pidge. She tamps the dirt down a little more firmly over the roots. She half-expects the sapling to do something exciting and react, but it just stands there like, well, like a tree. She wonders if Coran will have any good advice for her.

“Oh, no,” says Coran. He pats the sapling’s trunk fondly. “I’m afraid I’ve never had much luck with plants. They always seem to die on me.” 

“Oh,” says Pidge. She tries to discreetly move the tree away, but it’s heavy in its new ‘pot’, so she doesn’t succeed. She just sort of slumps against the pot ineffectually. Coran taps her on the head. 

“No need to worry, number five. I won’t fuss with your experiments.”

”It’s not an experiment, exactly,” says Pidge. “I don’t have a control. Or any variables. I’m just… going to see what happens.”

She grimaces at her own words. So maybe she’s not full of infinite good will, because that was a little too woo-woo for her own liking. She eyes the sapling speculatively. 

“I guess I could experiment on it,” she says. 

“Altean gardeners had whole libraries dedicated to their knowledge of plants,” says Coran, with a far-off, misty look in his eyes. “Not just Altean plants, but plants from all across the galaxy.” 

“Wow,” says Pidge. “Do you think any of that knowledge is saved in the castle?” 

Coran shrugs. “It’s possible.” His eyes get misty again. “If only we’d saved seeds though. What I’d give to see a field of carnivorous klafflesnappers in full bloom again.”

Pidge waits to see if Coran’s going to say anything else. She’s a bit impatient to get to studying the tree. He doesn’t, just continues to look off into space. 

“I wish I could have seen it,” she says, because she’s not sure what else there is to say. 

“Yes,” says Coran, after another long pause. “I wish you all could have seen it, too.” 

Pidge nods, feeling on-edge and awkward. There’s not a nice way to say, ‘Can you stop reminiscing about your doomed homeland? I have science I want to do.’ But… 

But Coran must read some of her feeling in her face, because he smiles suddenly and claps his hands briskly together. 

“Anyway,” he says, “I think there’s an old bench around here somewhere we can use. It might be nice to sit out here and enjoy the nature, such as it is. I’ll see if I can’t dig it up.”

“Thanks, Coran,” says Pidge, because she still doesn’t know what else to say.

***

It’s nice, her tree. She likes to sit by it with her laptop and work sometimes, when her room starts to feel too small but she still doesn’t want to talk to anyone. But it also starts to feel empty in the hangar, and there’s only so much care one little tree needs.

So she starts collecting other plants, from other planets: soft gray and purple plants that look like stones, a bush with pink, spore-like flowers that curl up at the touch, long, yellow grasses that smell like cinnamon and whose root is a fat, dark purple tuber, a squat plant with wide, serrated leaves that grows wider and wider rather than taller, wandering, red-leafed vines, white, wispy plants that drift in the air and don’t seem to need soil at all, luminescent, trumpet-shaped flowers with curling, fern-like leaves. She takes some soil and notes the color and intensity of the sun of each planet, and, slowly, the hangar starts to feel like a botanical garden created by a mad children’s author.

“Okay,” says Hunk one day, as he helps carry in her latest ‘sample’, a plant with a waxy flower as big as Pidge’s head that smells, intoxicatingly, of woodsmoke and citrus, “but how do we know none of these plants are actually, I don’t know, giant evil sea dragons that are going to brainwash and eat us?”

“I don’t think any of them are big enough to be giant evil sea dragons,” points out Pidge. They set the flower down, and Pidge whips out her laptop to start recording notes. It had been an odd planet, with two small, yellow suns that provided near constant daylight. She’s going to have to figure out how to create a similar effect without disturbing too many of the other plants. Or maybe near constant daylight will be good for all of them.

“They could be _babies_ , Pidge,” says Hunk, widening his eyes. “ _Baby_ giant evil sea dragon plants.” 

“I guess,” says Pidge doubtfully. She looks at her plants. They remain, as ever, non-people eating. “But I don’t think it’s likely.” 

“Look, all I’m saying is, it’s happened once, so it can happen again. We just have to be prepared.” 

“So we just don’t eat any of them,” says Pidge, impatient. “Easy.” 

“Well…” Hunk taps his forefingers together and looks shifty. 

Pidge raises her eyebrows at him. “Well?” 

“Well,” says Hunk, continuing to look shifty. “What if we did eat them? At least the ones that taste good. It’s not like we have a ton of fresh food on the ship, and fresh herbs make everything take amazing. Even slime.” 

“Then… we could try everything out,” says Pidge. “But scientifically.” Her irritation vanishes in a flash. “First, we can test everything for known toxins and then – ”

“Then we start eating everything!” says Hunk. “But only one of us. And one at a time. We’ll take notes.” 

“Perfect,” says Pidge, grinning. She adjusts her glasses. “We should start asking what the locals eat when we land somewhere.”

“Oh, I’m way ahead of you there, buddy,” says Hunk. He pulls out a fat, slightly grubby notebook from one of his pockets. At her surprised look, he says, “What? People like to talk about food, no matter where you go. And I like to eat.” 

“All right,” she says, and she takes the notebook from him and starts flipping through. The notes are very detailed and helpfully illustrated. 

“I think I recognize some of the stuff in here,” she says, grinning. “That tuber is definitely familiar.” 

Hunk rubs his hands together. “Let’s get started then.”

***

“Oh, Pidge, this is beautiful!” says Allura, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. Half Pidge’s garden seems to be in bloom, including the sapling, which is covered in puffy white blossoms that give off a soft, sweet scent like cotton candy. It’s an unexpected but welcome spring, even if it means Pidge has to wear a mask just to be able to breathe.

She grins from behind her mask. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I love it,” says Allura, beaming. She keeps her hands clasped and gazes out over the hangar, at the riot of colors and fantastical shapes. Pidge feels a bright note of pride in her chest. She does deeply impressive things all the time, but even she’s used to her ability to hack alien tech with ease at this point. The garden took patience. It took learning a whole new skill. Though she currently has no idea why everything decided to bloom at once. They shouldn’t be all on the same season cycle. 

“Do you mind if I take some cuttings?” asks Allura. “It would be so nice to have a little more nature around the rest of the castle.”

“Go for it,” says Pidge. She sneezes and winces. “Only… maybe not too much. It’s bad enough in here. I don’t know if I want to deal with allergies all over the castle.” 

Allura nods. “Of course,” she says. “Maybe just some for my room then.” 

Then, like a child, she scampers over to a large patch of bright pink, heart-shaped flowers and collects a slender bouquet. Pidge watches her move about the hangar. It’s odd but nice to see Allura so relaxed and carefree. Sometimes she forgets that – 10,000 years of cryogenic slumber aside – Allura isn’t that much older than her. It’s been especially hard to remember that lately. They’re all feeling the weight of Shiro’s disappearance; they’ve all lost their leader, but Allura’s lost the only other person she could share the burden of leadership with. Pidge knows she isn’t the only one looking to Allura for guidance now.

“I hope this isn’t too much…” says Allura, when she finally finishes picking flowers. She has so many she needs two arms to carry them all. She looks faintly embarrassed. 

Pidge laughs. “It’s fine, really. I’m glad someone else can enjoy them.” 

She sneezes again, and Allura laughs, delighted. 

“Then thank you, Pidge. It’s been a bit grim around here lately.” Allura pauses and frowns slightly. “We could all use a bit of joy in our lives.”

Pidge feels the smile slip off her face. She looks at Allura’s bouquet. She doesn’t think even a double armful of flowers is going to be anywhere near enough to make up for the loss of Shiro. 

“Do you think we’ll find him?” she asks quietly. 

Allura slumps slightly, and a tired look crosses her face. 

“I don’t know, Pidge. I hope so. I believe we will. But we have to plan as if we won’t.” 

Pidge doesn’t say anything. It’s hard enough looking for Matt and her dad. She still can’t quite believe she’s lost Shiro, too. 

“Is it really that easy for you to just move on? How do you keep going?” she asks plaintively, and at the dark, angry expression that dashes across Allura’s face, knows immediately it’s the wrong thing to say.

“Of course it’s not easy,” snaps Allura. “It’s never easy to lose someone.” 

“Sorry,” says Pidge. “I didn’t mean…” She fumbles for the apology and loses it. She had meant what she’d said, she just hadn’t been thinking about who she was talking to. Allura’s losses are immeasurable. What is Shiro to her entire planet? 

She tries to think of Earth being destroyed – Earth with her mother and her cousins that annoy her and every record of Alan Turing and Marie Curie and Galileo and every forest and flower she ever sniffed at, everything that she loved and hated. She swallows hard. How could anyone bear that grief?

“Sorry,” she says again, ashamed at how meager of a word it is. 

Allura takes a deep breath, and her usual composure returns to her. 

“It’s fine, Pidge, really. Thank you again for the flowers.” 

“Any time,” says Pidge.

They stand there awkwardly for a second, until Pidge goes to busy herself with some weeding. She’s not sure what Allura plans on doing, but she half-wishes she’d leave, so Pidge can feel bad about being a jerk in peace. 

“It really is beautiful,” says Allura softly. “It’s just like us.” 

Pidge glances back towards her. Allura looks thoughtful. “What do you mean?”

Allura gestures at the garden with her chin. It’s an impressive, regal gesture. 

“All of these plants are from different worlds, but you’ve brought them here. And together, they’ve created something new, something never seen before, something beautiful. That’s what we’re doing as we build our coalition.”

Pidge thinks about that. It amazes her, sometimes, how Allura can think in symbols and metaphor. It’s a different kind of intelligence from what she grew up with, and she’s struggled at times to respect it. But it gets results; she’s seen that much first hand. 

“So are we going to start inviting heads of state to dinner here?” she asks. 

Allura laughs. “No, I think our normal dining hall is adequate. Besides,” she adds teasingly, “I wouldn’t want to accidentally provoke an allergy attack.” 

Pidge sniffs defensively, and Allura’s smile softens, loses its teasing edge. She looks back out over the garden, and her gaze lands on the sapling, still standing in the center of the hangar, but now surrounded on all sides by a dizzying variety of companions. Its white flowers wave gently in the soft breeze provided by the air circulation system Pidge has modified for the room. 

“It hasn’t grown much, has it?” says Allura. 

“No,” says Pidge, with a fond smile for the tree. It’s not even as tall as her yet. “But I think they’re slow to grow.” 

Allura smile deepens, but it’s sadder somehow, too. 

“A tree whose shade you’ll never sit in,” she says softly. 

“Sorry?” says Pidge. 

“You’ve planted something you may never get to enjoy in its prime,” says Allura. She hugs her bouquet closer, and Pidge realizes she’s in for another metaphor. “Like my father. Like Shiro. They worked and fought for something that they would never get to see, because it was important to them that future generations, that other people, would.” She glances sharply at Pidge, uncomfortably perceptive. Pidge fiddles with her glasses. 

“That’s how I can keep going, Pidge.”

***

She’s surprised one morning, a few days after her conversation with Allura, to find Keith sitting in the garden. He’s on the bench Coran dragged out of storage, the one Pidge likes to sit on as she codes. As far as she knows, Keith’s never actually been to the garden before. He’s the only one of them not to. Pidge isn’t offended by it. As far as she can tell, Keith only likes three things: flying really fast, blades, and Shiro. So she’s at a loss to figure out why he’s here. Maybe he was just enjoying the quiet.

“Hey,” she says, looking at him expectantly. 

He glances up at her and nods once, then goes back to scowling at one of her ferns. Pidge waits for a second to see if he’ll actually say anything, but, when he doesn’t, she just shrugs and gets to work. They have a surprising amount of free time on their hands these days, with Zarkon out of commission, so she’s running experiments on lighting. 

Keith's glowering silence starts to grate after awhile though. He's not a guy who knows how to put the 'companionable' into 'companionable silence'. She finds she wants to say something. She's barely seen Keith since Shiro went missing. He spends all his free time looking for Shiro or training. So she wants to be caustic, honestly. _Oh, good to actually see you around. So when I want to go find Matt and my dad, I’m giving up on Voltron, but when you spend weeks and weeks sulking over Shiro, that’s fine?_ But she knows that’s cruel, and Keith is her friend. She bites back the urge. 

“Hey,” she says instead. “Can you move that light by you? Turn it thirty degrees to the left?” 

She sees Keith glance up at her from the corner of her eye. He looks confused at first, like he doesn’t think she’s talking to _him_. But when she turns to look at him full in the face, he ducks his head in acknowledgement and does as she asked. 

“Thanks,” she says. 

She goes back to adjusting the shade of red on the current light she’s working on. Keith goes back to sitting on the bench. 

“Can you weed the tree, too?” she asks. She figures if Keith is going to just sit there, scowling, she might as well put him to work. 

“Weed?” he says, but he sounds honestly confused, not recalcitrant. 

“All the little orange flowering plants in the pot with it,” she says. “They’re not supposed to be in there.” 

She has no idea how they’re propagating either. It’s not like there are any pollinators on the ship. But that’s a delightful mystery for another day.

“Sure,” mumbles Keith. He kneels down by the pot and starts to pull the weeds out. She keeps an eye on him, to make sure he doesn’t disturb the soil too much, but he does all right. 

“And just put them to the side,” she instructs. “I’ll give them to Hunk later.”

Finally, she gets a real reaction out of him. He wrinkles his nose. 

“For what?” 

“For making tea,” she explains. “It’s good for headaches.”

One time out of ten the tea is also mildly hallucogenic, but Pidge and Hunk both agreed that it's worth the price. It really is good for headaches. 

“Okay,” says Keith, and they lapse back into silence. 

They work steadily for half an hour. Pidge works at her lights and makes notes, and Keith does all the tedious little tasks she asks of him. It’s kind of nice. Keith’s capability for silence isn’t something she’s really used to – not with the family she’s from, her and Matt and her dad always voluble, excitable, overflowing with thoughts and questions. And he’s not quiet the way her mom is quiet – and she feels a slight pang at the thought of her mom, but she shoves it aside – whose silence is open, reflective, taking in the chatter and thoughts of her husband and children and throwing it back with laughter, like a brilliant, happy mirror. Keith’s silence is inward turning and heavy. Talking to him can be like throwing a stone into a very deep and very dark well. But she finds she doesn’t mind it when they’re both working. She doesn’t feel the need to talk to him or at him then. 

“Anything else?” says Keith, once he’s finished the last task she’s set him to. He stares at her expectantly.

Pidge looks around. The garden is pristine, weeded, watered, trimmed, and all her experiments are in place for the week.

“Er,” she says. She worries a crescent of dirt out from under one fingernail. “No, not at the moment. Thanks for all your help though.”

“No problem,” says Keith. He continues to stare at her.

“Do you… need something?” prompts Pidge. She’s not trying to be cruel, but she has no idea what he wants, or if he even wants anything. Maybe he was just enjoying the solitude and wants her to leave. But, she thinks resentfully, it's _her_ garden, so tough luck Keith.

“Are you still looking for your dad and brother?” he blurts out, all at once. It takes Pidge a second to process what he’s asked, and when she does, she feels caught, winded. 

“Yes,” she says. “Of course I am.” 

The garden is a nice distraction, but it is just a distraction, when her brain gets too full of what ifs and dead leads, or when she needs to set her computing aside for a while to let it run some new process. The garden's how she keeps herself from going insane.

Keith nods, agitated. He glares at her, still oddly defiant. We're not fighting, she thinks at him in exasperation. 

“Okay. Can you look for Shiro, too?” 

“Keith,” says Pidge, and it occurs to her that Keith isn’t upset with _her_ ; he’s upset he has to ask someone for help. And it hurts - she's surprised by that - but it hurts, that what she's going to say next isn't going to help him at all.

“Keith. I already am. There’s just… There's nothing.”

***

“Wow,” says Shiro, looking around the garden, not long after he gets back. “You’ve really done some amazing work here.”

“Thanks!” says Pidge brightly, and then, “It’s good to have you back.”

Shiro smiles at her gently. "Thanks," he says, and then he just stands there, rubbing his metal arm. It’s the first time she’s seen him up and about without Keith standing directly at his elbow, looking like he's scared Shiro's going to go up in smoke or pass out at any second. Maybe it's a fair way for Keith to feel. Shiro seems surprisingly unsure of himself, not yet fully back in Black Lion Paladin mode. 

Pidge doesn’t blame him though. He’s been gone a long time. She figures what he’s doing now is him getting back into the role: visiting the troops, checking on and catching up with each of them. She appreciates it. Keith got better at being the leader, but neither he nor Allura ever paid a lot of attention to how they were all doing as individuals.

She waits for a moment to see if Shiro will say anything, but he still just seems tired and lost. He touches the long, frilly, lace-like leaf of a tall shrub she and Hunk picked up three planets ago for its delicious red berries.

“What’s this called?” he asks. 

“That’s a sliffle!” she says, and she’s rewarded with a tiny smile. 

“A sliffle?” 

She nods. “That’s what the locals called it at least. The berries on it are really sweet – and non-toxic! You should try them.” 

Shiro smiles a little wider, and so she tells him all about the sliffle. And then she tells him about the experiments she’s been running, all the new plants she’s collected, and he seems grateful for the conversational lifeline. He keeps smiling as she talks, asks all the right questions, but she can tell, too, he’s only partly there. As long as she’s known him, Shiro’s never been all the way present. There’s always something locked behind the eyes. 

He came to dinner at her parents’, once or twice, before the Kerberos mission, and he had been friendly, intelligent, helpful – everything you could want in a dinner guest. But even then, Pidge remembers thinking he seemed somehow sad. But she wonders if this time he came back with even less of a him. 

It’s a bad thought, and she shunts it aside immediately. 

“And this,” she tells him, hoping none of her thoughts have made it onto her face, “is a lady’s butter butt.” 

It doesn’t get the laugh she expects. Shiro tries to smile, but it turns into a bit of a wince. 

“Are you all right?” she asks, suddenly concerned. Maybe he really is in danger of passing out. 

“Just a headache,” he says. There’s obvious pain and tension in his face. “I might go back to my room for a bit.”

“A headache? Here,” she says. She digs up one of the orange-flowering plants that have invaded the Olkari tree again and finds a small pot for it. “You should have this. Keep it in your room. It’s good for headaches, when you make it into a tea.”

Shiro looks at it, surprised, and takes it from her tentatively. He holds it like a person holding an infant for the very first time. 

“Are you sure?” he says. “My room doesn’t exactly get a lot of light…” 

“I’m sure,” says Pidge firmly. 

She’s only seen his room a couple of time, only in passing, but each time, she’s been struck by how bare it is. She knows so little of where Shiro’s from, who his family is, what he loves, for all she would follow and has followed him to the ends of the universe. She realizes she even knows more about Keith than she does about Shiro, and Keith is maybe the least open person she’s ever met. 

It makes her ache, a little, to realize how lonely Shiro must be. He could use some color in his room, and something to care for that he doesn’t have to constantly worry about. 

She hadn’t been lying to Keith when she said the plant was a weed, but, other than that, it’s a good plant and extremely hardy. Its leaves are thick and waxy, a dark purple-green, and it flowers often, showing off flaming orange petals. It had completely covered the ground of the planet she’d found it on, spreading out in rippling waves, so that it had looked like the whole planet was – beautifully – on fire. 

Shiro keeps just looking at it though, his expression still uncertain.

Pidge touches his hand, and he looks at her instead. 

“Really, Shiro,” she says, and she smiles and tries to put into it all the care and love she has for her friend. “It’s a survivor. Just like you.”

***

“You have so many things,” complains Lance. He flops miserably onto the bench. It’s impressive. The bench is comfortable enough to sit on, but it’s not really any good for flopping. But Lance has managed to assume a boneless state none-the-less.

“What are you talking about?” says Pidge, irritated. She’s in the middle of taking soil samples. 

Lance lifts his head up to gaze at her sorrowfully. 

“You’re just, like, the science one, and the smart one, and now you have the garden.” 

“Yes…” says Pidge slowly. She runs some soil through a scanner, and notes down the chemical composition that’s read back to her. It’s low on sulfur. “I’m not really sure where you’re going with this.”

“I just don’t have a _thing!_ ” he wails. “Hunk’s got cooking and engineering! Keith is all fast and good with swords. Shiro’s the leader. And what am I?” 

“Our friend?” suggests Pidge, just a bit tart. 

Lance sighs and slumps even more. He continues to look at her pathetically. Pidge feels another flash of irritation – she’s not here to be Lance’s therapist. She just wants to work in her garden. 

“What exactly are you upset about?” she snaps. 

Lance whines and hides his face. 

“Look, it’s great that Shiro’s back. Really! I’m really happy. But… that’s six paladins. And five lions, and Allura’s amazing with Blue. But Shiro’s going to take back the Black Lion, so Keith’ll take back the Red Lion…” 

“So you’re worried you’re going to be left out?” says Pidge. 

She can’t imagine piloting a lion besides Green. She’s grateful she hasn’t had to try. 

“Yeah,” says Lance quietly. “And I don’t have anything to make up for not being a pilot.” 

Pidge digs her fingers into the dark, soft dirt and thinks. People are different from plants. Plants are alive, but they respond in predictable ways, she's learned. There are only so many variables you need to control to help them grow: air, water, light, soil. They can be finnicky, but once you know what they need, that’s all you need to know. 

But people aren’t like that. They may be made of the same stuff as plants and stardust and metal, but there's an extra layer there of being and knowing. She doesn’t know what the right thing to say is, or what’s the right proportion of kindness to sternness. Still, she’s felt like, in the last few months, maybe something has started to change. Maybe sometimes she’s able to say or do the right thing to make her friends feel better. For the first time in her life, she actually finds herself wanting to say or do the right thing to make someone else who’s not an immediate family member feel better. 

“I wouldn’t be out here if it weren’t for you,” she says finally, and hopes it's the right thing. 

“What?” says Lance. “What are you talking about?” 

“I wouldn’t be a Paladin if it weren’t for you,” says Pidge. “I don’t know if any of us would be. That night Shiro came back, you were right there with me the whole time.”

Lance considers this for a second, and then he scowls. 

“You were already up on the Garrison roof,” he says. “You would’ve seen Shiro’s ship crash, and then you, him, and _Keith_ would be off saving the universe.” 

“Kind of hard to do that if we hadn’t even been able to get into the Blue Lion.” 

“Yeah, well, she has a new pilot now.” 

Pidge huffs, annoyed. 

“Yeah, but, who knows if I could’ve made it to the ship? Without you and Hunk? And Hunk _definitely_ wouldn’t be here if not for you. And we wouldn’t have made it into the Blue Lion without you – the Blue Lion chose you for a reason. You were the only one who knew all of us – Keith, me, Hunk, Shiro.” 

“I didn’t really know Shiro,” mutters Lance, but he’s gone faintly pink, and his mouth is turned up at the edges in a small, cat's smile. “He was just my hero.” 

Pidge waves her hand dismissively. 

“I’m just saying, we wouldn’t be a team if not for you. We only function as a team because of you. That’s why you’re the Red Lion, now. Because you know you go where someone’s needed. It’s not a bad thing to be versatile, Lance. It’s an evolutionary advantage, actually.” 

“Huh,” says Lance. He sits up abruptly; he looks impressed. 

“What?” says Pidge. 

“Nothing, just, Keith was right. First time that’s ever happened.”

Pidge narrows her eyes. “Right about what?” 

“I talked to Keith about this, too. You know, the whole six paladins, five lions thing. And he said to leave the math to you. I hate to say it, but the guy was right.” 

Pidge blushes, pleased and vaguely proud of herself. “It’s not math. Just common sense.”

***

“You?” says Matt when Pidge brings him to it. It’s the last stop on the castle tour. “A garden? _You?_ But you hate the outdoors! Mom and Dad used to have to bribe you to go outside! Even just to play in the yard!”

Pidge frowns at him.

“How is it that I’m a Paladin of Voltron and live on a flying castle but _this_ is the thing you have the hardest time believing?”

Matt shakes his head. He still has the same giant, dopey, wonderfully familiar grin he’s worn since they first stepped onto the castle. Together. 

“I guess I always knew you were an amazing techno whiz, but this is just unexpected!” 

“I have a lot of talents,” says Pidge, crossing her arms and sticking her nose in the air haughtily. The pose lasts all of two seconds, before she’s back to grinning gleefully, too. “But you have to admit, this garden is pretty cool.” 

Matt doesn’t answer. He just smiles at her, odd and fond. 

“What?” she says, scrunching her nose. “It _is_ cool. Plants are cool now, Matt.” 

“They are cool,” he says, and then he pulls her into a tight, one-armed hug. “And I am really impressed." He pauses. "You’ve grown a lot, Pidge.” 

She leans into his side and beams. They look out together over her garden, at the still small sapling in the center, at the vines and lichen and ferns and shrubs and flowers and grasses she’s brought to join it, at the kaleidoscope of color and texture and smell, at this place she’s created, a million miles from home, for herself, and for her friends. 

“Yeah,” she says, and hope and happiness flood her chest. “Yeah. I guess I have.”

**Author's Note:**

> I did not intend to write this when I went to bed last night, but then I woke up this morning with most of it in my head. So here we are. Title from what the internet tells me is a Van Gogh quote: "If I am worth anything later, I am worth something now. For wheat is wheat, even if people think it is a grass in the beginning."
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed.


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